


A Song of Snow and Ice

by themcgeek



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blizzards & Snowstorms, Christmas, M/M, new year's
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-05
Updated: 2015-01-05
Packaged: 2018-03-05 12:18:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3119933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themcgeek/pseuds/themcgeek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When they get snowed in over Christmas Break, Cas decides to make the best of the situation for him and his roommate, Dean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Song of Snow and Ice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [darkforetold](https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkforetold/gifts).



> I'm so sorry about the formatting, but I'm already a smidge past deadline, so I'll try to fix it later. <3

The thing about upstate New York is that it snows. A lot. Tunnels are carved through snow banks-if the plows can get out. Hell, even Spiderman comics acknowledge the cataclysmic weather. As a result, the phrase “snowed in” finds its way into the vernacular of nearly every citizen. The weather, as it turns out, does not care one iota for students trying to make their way home for winter break.

(Day 0)

“Dude, how are you not more passed? We’re fucking stuck here-probably till New Year’s at this point.”

“Yes, Dean, I’m aware. But believe it or not, the weather is disinclined to change based upon your frustration.”

Dean throws a disgusted look over his shoulder at his roommate, turning his back to the drafty sliding glass doors that create an entire wall of their living room. Cas didn’t even see fit to open his eyes as he methodically tore down Dean’s ire.

“I’m not sure why you keep staring out that window, Dean. The snow is piled higher than your remarkably towering brother.” Cas shifts, pulling the ancient patchwork denim blanket down from the back of the couch.

Dean snorts. “Well forgive me for not wanting to end up like the Donner party.” Stomping over to the couch, he punches Cas’s feet out of the way before flopping down and stealing a corner of blanket.

Wiggling his toes under his roommate’s deceptively meaty ass, Cas cracks an eyelid. “That seems incredibly unlikely.” Dean arches an eyebrow. “There’s entirely too few of us to make that possible.”

“That’s true, Cas. That’s true.”

(Day 1)

“Hey, we went grocery shopping the other day, right?”

“Yes, Dean. At 2 a.m.”

“Right.”

“Where the hell did my pie go?”

(Day 5)

“Jesus, is it still snowing?”

“So it would seem.”

“This sucks.”

“Indeed.”

A shrill whistle cuts through the almost conversation, startling Dean from his staring contest with the still mounting snow bank. With a heavy sigh, he tears himself away from the door and follows the muted clinking sound coming from the kitchen. As he crosses the threshold, he collides with Cas, and in the process dumps a scalding mug of hot chocolate down the poor man’s torso.

“Shit,” Cas hisses, slamming the mugs down on the counter and whipping his shirt off.

Dean’s breath catches in his throat at the sight of tanned skin merely inches from his own. Cocoa runs in sticky rivulets down Cas’s smooth chest, catching on a nipple, and spreading to the freckle beside it. Dean wants to chase that drop with his tongue. And with that thought, he swallows with a dry click and flees to his room.

Left in the dust, and still in pain, a smile crosses Cas’s face.

(Day 7)

“We’re gonna run out of groceries.”

Cas hitches the towel less securely as he opens the bathroom door. Padding through the living room on bare feet, he grabs the questionably dated orange juice out of the fridge. He ignores Dean’s indignant shout and proceeds to drink straight from the carton. Wiping his mouth on his wrist, he replies, “We wouldn’t, if you ate like a normal human.”

Closing the fridge, Cas ventures back through the living room, past Dean, to his bedroom. And if the towel slips off his ass on the way, well. He’ll pretend he didn’t hear Dean squeak.

(Night 7)

Dean can’t sleep. Between the images of his (off-limits) roommate’s (gloriously toned) ass, and that same roommate’s chest (and nipple freckle), he can’t close his eyes. That would be bad enough, but no. This is Dean Winchester, and his life cannot be easy. So now he’s in bed, listening to soft gasps and sighs coming through the alarmingly thin wall that he shares with Cas.

In the morning, he’ll pretend he didn’t come when he heard Cas moan his name.

(Day 10)

Dean doesn’t hear the door open over the sound of explosions coming from the TV. “Fuck you, Sammy, that one was totally bullshit. You’re a fucking camper. This is why we don’t play, asshole.”

“A little help here?” Cas wheezes, trying to force the front door shut against the blizzard that is still raging outside. His arms are laden with shopping bags from fingertips to elbows, and he has a six-pack wedged against his hip.

“Holy-Sam, hold on. Cas just walked in. Yeah, no shit there’s a blizzard, I’m glad you’ve got the weather channel out in California. Just- _hold on_.” He rips the headset off and vaults over the back of the couch, throwing his shoulder against the still straining door to get the latch closed.

After a few moments of panting, interspersed with shivering from Cas, Dean looks at him, torn between gratitude and irritation.

“Cas, what the-“

“I got your favorite beer.”

“Wha?”

“And those frozen burritos that you like so much, even if it does make you rival Sam for gas. And frozen pies were on sale, so I grabbed two. They’re those Marie Callendar ones, so they should be decent.”

“Cas, what the-there’s a blizzard out there, man!”

Cas looks up from where he’d been trying to brush the snow and ice from his weather dampened hair. “Well spotted, Dean. As it turns out, water is also wet, and snow is cold.”

“I didn’t even realize you’d gone.”

“Well, you were still asleep when I left, to be fair. And tomorrow’s Christmas Eve. I know you’re upset that you won’t get to see your brother and Uncle Bobby, but… After you complaining about groceries the other day, I thought I might as well make this experience as pleasant as possible, all things considered.”

Gently taking the beer from its perch on Cas’s hip, Dean smiles gently, hoping Cas didn’t notice the extended, well, _caress_ along his side through the oversized trench coat he’s shrouded in. “Thanks, Cas. I mean it. And hey, Christmas won’t be all bad, right? I mean, we’ve got pie, and beer, and Netflix, and…uh. Well. There are worse people that I could be stuck with than you, buddy.”

Windburned cheeks burn just a little bit brighter, and Castiel ducks his head. “Get back to your game, Dean. Tell Sam I said hello.”

Blinking stupidly, it takes Dean a minute to remember he had been in the middle of a fierce battle with his brother. “Oh, right. I’ll just, uh. I’ll just do that.”

He almost trips over his feet on his way back to the couch. But his feet were frozen, that’s why. Of course.

(Day 11: Christmas Eve)

“Is there anything in particular you’ll miss, Dean?”

“Hmm?” Dean raises his head from the arm of the couch he’s wedged against, and deflects Cas’s next kick.

“Any family traditions, anything you did on Christmas that we can try to replicate.”

“Nah, not really. Mostly everyone would come to Uncle Bobby’s, and we’d try to keep Sam from spiking the eggnog. I mean, I like my booze, don’t get me wrong, but kid doesn’t know when to stop. Ellen would usually come up with something or another for us to eat, but lately it’s been a free for all with the food. Kinda potluck style, ya know? And Jo makes this cheese thing… Anyway. Nothing special, just…family.” Dean pauses for a minute at the searching look in Cas’s denim blue eyes. “What about you, Cas? Anything you’re missing out on?”

“Other than being at Mass almost all day? I suppose I’ll be missing Gabriel trying to feed everyone desserts laced with various illicit substances, but other than that, nothing worth mentioning.”

“Gabe roofies everyone at Christmas?”

“Well, I highly doubt it’s Rohypnol. Usually it seems to be varying forms of marijuana, though he did manage opium once.”

“Jesus.”

Cas hums and shuffles deeper into the couch. Unthinkingly, Dean grabs the foot on his lap and begins massaging it. “I guess, for me, it’s also, just family. Though yours sounds like it would be infinitely more enjoyable.”

Dean moves to the other foot. “Then come. Next year, I mean. Come to the Winchester-Singer-Harvelle Christmas.”

“I’d like that very much, Dean.”

(Night 11: Christmas Eve)

Cas smiles to himself as he hears Dean unsuccessfully stifle a drawn-out moan that sounds suspiciously like his name. He waits a few more minutes, and when his roommate’s breathing has gone deep and even, he pulls himself out of bed to hang the last of the decorations.

(Day 12: Christmas)

“Cas, Cas, wake up you grumpy sonofabitch, it’s Christmas.”

“I’m aware, Dean. I have a fucking calendar.”

“I made you coffee, and bacon’s in the oven.”

“Give me five minutes.”

Three minutes later, Cas stumbles into the kitchen in loose fitting flannel sleep pants emblazoned with a repeating pattern of leg lamps, and nothing else. Not turning around, Dean shoves the plate of bacon and their biggest mug of coffee toward the other man, never looking away from the pancakes he’s flipping.

When he does finally deign to look up, it’s just in time to catch a glimpse of the tattoo on Cas’s hip, his toned back, and the swell of an ass that is definitely not in any sort of underwear. He burns his tongue, but the sip of coffee was the only thing Dean could think of that would make it harder for him to notice how his mouth went dry.

After breakfast, Cas and Dean find themselves side by side on the couch, as always, ready to exchange gifts.

Cas definitely doesn’t look adorable when he tilts his head to read the label on each jar of honey.

“They’re locally sourced. None of these places are more than 50 miles away, and they offer tours and stuff. If you bring a clean jar back, a couple of them might let you refill it. Get your own honey from the…hives or combs or whatever. Sustainability and all that.”

“Dean, this is… so incredibly thoughtful. Thank you.” He takes a deep breath, as if steeling himself, before handing over a thin, flat package. “This is for you.”

Carefully, Dean opens the paper so as not to tear the whole gift. Inside, is a piece of heavy stationary, with Cas’s near calligraphic scrawl stating “Look up.” He does. And there, dangling from a newly installed hook in the ceiling, is a ball of (probably fake) mistletoe.

“Merry Christmas, Dean.”

Dean barely has time to whimper before Cas’s lips are upon his.

Merry Christmas, indeed.

Maybe being snowed in isn’t so bad, after all.

(New Year’s Eve)

“10! 9! 8!” The few voices crammed into the Novak-Winchester living room are screaming with delight, sounding like a crowd twice its size.

“5! 4! 3!”

Cas and Dean smile at each other, even as Sam throws a drunken, celebratory arm around his brother’s neck.

“2! 1!”

And for a brief moment, the house as silent as the gathered party watches Dean and Castiel give the first New Year’s kiss.

They cheer louder for that than they did the ball drop.

 

~fin~

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
